Tattoos
by Jelach
Summary: Four sheds his Abnegation ideals, swapping them for a back full of tattoos and a feeling of bravery that he's longed for since becoming Dauntless. Sadly, there's something, or someone, he misses from his first home. AU, enjoy xxx :)


Tattoos

It was relentless, the stabbing pain along my back continued well into the evening and the dull ache continued for days afterwards.

Abnegation at heart, I'd never understood the draw of having tattoos until being forced into it by my peers. Eric all but dragged me into the chair himself. As a masochistic ringleader, he viewed my blank canvas skin as cowardly. His icy grey eyes showed the depth of his evil as he stared deep into mine, trying to intimidate me into obeying. His were cold enough to freeze the air where we stood and unrelenting in their mission. He should've known that behind the underdog pretence, I was the true leader. I'd never follow his rules. I spat on his shoe, turned on my heel and walked away. I had no time for bullies, after all, they were just cowards.

A few days later, I found myself in the chair. I was ready for the pain they promised, I was ready for the burn and I was ready for my newly-inked back. I could feel my heart pounding, trying to force it's way past my ribs and into the air around me. I could feel the moisture on my palms as I clenched the cold, tatty leather armrests as a woman approached me. I could hear the shake in my voice as I replied to her question. I could hear it and I hated it. It was everything I had left behind. It betrayed everything I strived to be. It was a mark of cowardice.

Nevertheless, I strode on into the unknown, shaking all the while.

"Hi, I'm Four," I say, glad for the nickname that hides my identity. The nickname that severed my ties to Marcus, the father who is my worst nightmare. He even made it into my landscape, so I still spent most days running from him, even in the place where I found sanctuary.

"So," she said slowly, "Four. I've heard so much about you." She had a nasal voice with a raspy undercurrent. It made every single hair on the back of my neck stand on end, even after a whole month since choosing. It was unpleasant and drawly, but it sounded like home. The Dauntless were a curious bunch, but at least they were individual. At least they weren't Marcus.

"I'd like a tattoo," I said slowly, forcing myself to calm down. I am dauntless, I am brave, I am human. My mantra stuck in my head, the repetition and familiarity soothing my racing nerves.

"Anything in mind?" She asked with a smile.

At that my eyes lit up, my plans disappeared from my head and, impulsively, I gestured what I wanted.

"I'd like something big, something impressive, something me." I said excitedly. "Some Dauntless flames across here," I enthused, gesturing from my belly button around to my lower back and up to my ribcage. "And maybe the logo between my shoulder blades," I asked, seeking approval. She nodded in assent. "You see, I'd like to remember where I'm accepted. Then I'll have the Abnegation tree underneath, as a reminder of where I'm from, where I was raised from a tiny child into a person with views and opinions, and the guts to enforce them. Then, really small, I'd like the other three symbols, as a reminder that each faction has redeeming qualities. Each faction is desirable, and I don't want to be the one who trades cowardice for cruelty, I want to be the one who becomes courageous but still remembers the importance of truth and selflessness and intelligence and no secrecy. I think we should learn from one another and a tattoo may just help me with this. I want to remember. For it's only in remembering that we learn from our mistakes."

The artist sat there, taken aback before muttering, a beat late, "I'll see what I can do."

I felt the surge of adrenalin inside of me as she asked me to take my shirt off. Pushing me closer to a moment of vulnerability, I could feel the tension begin to mount, morphing into fear as I pulled it over my head. I was breathing fast, almost panting in my moment of numbing fear.

It wasn't the pain I was scared of, pain wasn't new to me. It was the lack of control that had always terrified me. It had played such a part in my childhood that it left me a deer in the headlights, unable to move for my fear. I may have only four fears, but they were blood deep in intensity.

"Pull yourself together," I muttered under my breath, willing myself to calm. Just like in the simulations, I felt the edges of my vision go hazy as I focused intently on a spot on the far wall. I could feel my heartbeat returning to normal as my focus drove the fear out of my mind, leaving a peaceful after tone similar to Novacaine.

The artist said something in her raspy voice that I didn't catch, as focused as I was, but I sensed that it was a warning so braced myself for impact.

"Loosen up, it'll hurt more if you tense," she nearly shouted. Taken aback, I followed her instructions and relaxed all of my muscles in a rippling action along my back, each vertebrae in turn.

She raised the needle and began. Bracing myself, I was surprised to find that it wasn't too bad. The pain was excruciating but the fear was easy to control. I knew that I could say stop whenever, meaning that the control and power were in my hands.

Sitting there for what felt like forever with a constant jabbing pin across my back, I had time to think. Thinking allowed me to understand. My head could be my worst nightmare or my greatest sanctuary, whatever I needed. In times of torment, my head was an escape. I escaped there in that moment, numbing the needle pricks into blackness as I closed my eyes from sight and closed my skin from touch. In my simulations, it was how I coped with my fears. If you can't stand up to something, change the situation and calm your heart rate. It was how I learned to survive.

I wondered how this year's initiates would do, surviving Dauntless initiation was always tough. Having turned down a leadership post, it would be my job to train them. I felt icy butterflies flood my stomach as I realised that I would be responsible for their training; responsible for their lives. I lost the tenuous grip I had on numbness and the jabbing returned in full force.

Wincing, I recollected myself and tried to decide which children from home would transfer. Despite the sanctuary I'd found in Dauntless, Abnegation would always be my first home. I remembered the selflessness we were taught, the indoctrination of our ideals so forceful that I still carried the views with me now, in this foreign place with Eric. His name earned a shiver and I felt the needle strike. I muttered a curse under my breath and gritted my teeth, wondering how long I'd be here for. I closed my eyes and pictured the prospective candidates for initiation.

In my minds eye, I saw a face. It was the same face that I'd been seeing ever since she started school, two years after me. She was so small, blonde hair scraped into two tight plaits and tied neatly with string, as was Abnegation custom. Her face was strong with lines clearly defined despite her youth. She had full, pouty lips and an air of confidence about her that instantly reminded me of my mother. Most of all, I remembered her eyes. They were a cross between blue and grey, the most unusual sky hue. Framed by thick lashes, they dominated her face and had the depth of a thousand seas. They had caught my attention, boring into my self in a way that I would have found unnerving, had it been someone else. Instead, I found myself a deer in the headlights, stunned by her unconventional beauty. She was different to society's conception of beautiful but she was the prettiest thing I'd ever seen. Aware that I'd been staring, I turned away, secretly hoping that I would see her again out of school but feigning indifference, I looked at my shoes and strutted into the school building.

I soon learned her name, Beatrice Prior. It fit her most completely, the icing on the cake of this amazing girl. I'd still never spoken to her and I was unsure of whether she knew I existed but I hoped so. Desperately. I hoped she'd chosen Dauntless. But for her sake, I hoped she'd make it thorough initiation. I hoped she wasn't Divergent, for I knew first hand how dangerous it could be to have that label in this faction. It could cost you your life.

I was brought back to the present by a brief jabbing by the artist. With a "you're done, congratulations," the woman covered my whole torso in plastic and told me to leave it be for a while. I accepted and thanked her for her time before trying to put my shirt on. A searing pain traveled white hot along my spine, ribs and hips and I gave up, opting to lie face down on my mattress all day, dreaming of Prior.

Upon reaching my room, I checked my new ink in the mirror and gasped. It was stunning of course, but it was such a shock to me that I stood there gaping with my mouth wide open in shock. Seeing the mark of the Dauntless and fortified by the strength of all of the factions, I felt red courage flow through my bones and for once, I felt strong. I felt Divergent. I felt brave.

I hoped Beatrice felt the same.

I hoped she picked Dauntless.

I hoped she'd pick me.

_I wish I owned Divergent and its characters, but sadly, the awesome Veronica Roth has all of that. I hope you I enjoy this little insight into Four's head, even if it's not completely canon. Have a great day and DFTBA xxx :)_


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